


Morning Song

by Missy



Category: Laverne & Shirley (TV)
Genre: Early Mornings, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Kid Fic, Love, Morning Cuddles, Mornings, Nursing, Parenthood, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29530848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Parenthood and reflections - romantic and otherwise.
Relationships: Laverne DeFazio/Lenny Kosnowski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Morning Song

The dawn was pink-gold this morning. Storm coming in, Laverne thought to herself, uncurling her fingertips around her pillow and curling herself around the warm bulk of her husband.

“Mph,” Lenny muttered, trying to crawl closer to her, which would be physically impossible unless he put himself inside of her. Something neither of them was ready for this early in the morning. His morning breath, sour and a little acidic, made her nose wrinkle, and his bristly morning beard brushed her forehead as he gave her a mushymouthed peck.

“What time I’sit?” she muttered, rolling deeper into his embrace. Sometimes his intensity, his needy clinging, could make made her uncomfortable, but right now all she wanted was to feel well-cosseted. 

“Uh…” He squinted at the alarm clock over her head. “50?”

“That’s not a time, Len.”

“Oh. Five,” he said. They both knew what that meant, but it felt nice to nice to cuddle up to do nothing for a few minutes. Then he brushed the hair out of her eyes and stared into her face with a fond look.

“What?” she grumbled. 

“Nothing. You just look great in the mornings,” he informed her.

“Len, I ain’t slept right in two months…”

“Neither have I….”

“…And I’m all fat and greasy…”

“Because I knocked you up,” he said. “You can blame that one on me.”

“Why’re you flirting with me? We can’t do it again until…”

He stared at her through a net made by his long fingers. “Laverne,” he said quietly. “You gotta know by now I’m crazy about you.”

They were interrupted by the bell – or, more accurately, their son, yelling for breakfast. “I’ll get him,” Lenny said. “You stay in bed.”

Laverne nodded, dragged herself up into a sitting position. They’d grab more sleep after the baby went back down for his nap. She unbuttoned her pajama top and waited patiently for Lenny to return. Which took awhile, as Lenny changed the baby’s diaper and babbled to him, half-singing, a private language and world that only they shared.

To be fair – Laverne and the baby had their own shared language, too. So when Lenny entered with their lively-eyed child, Laverne reached out for the boy and his hungry cries transmuted into satisfied suckling sounds. Task complete, Lenny climbed into bed with a sigh.

The baby began to greedily suck down his breakfast. Laverne sighed to look at him – he was a pretty cute kid, in her opinion, his skin as fair as Lenny’s and sporting her nose. Lenny’s smile. His eyes. Her little short fingers. His long toes. Made with impassioned impulsivity, but anchored in want and love. Joseph Walter Kosnowski was exactly four months old, and he already showed signs of having an appetite as titanic as his parents’. Laverne could’ve sworn she could hear the baby smacking his chops as he went along, little fist locked around her fingertip.

“Promise me that you won’t start biting your hand ‘til you’re sixteen,” she whispered, playing with his plastered-down blond locks, earning herself a spitty smile.

“I heard that,” Lenny retorted. But he was watching her from nearby, his smile admiring, tender. “If Joey starts mixing up his boob juice with Pepsi, I’m gonna blame you.”

“That just means he’s got taste,” Laverne said. Then she caught Lenny watching her with tears glittering in his eyes. “You okay?”

“I told you,” he said, his voice thick. “I love you.” He said it all the time, and Laverne on some level realized she was spoiled by his demonstrativeness. But she felt as if she had been renewed in that moment, altered in a wonderful way. 

“Back atcha,” she said. The baby replied to their flirting by detatching and reporting forth with a loud, hearty burp.

His mother chuckled and kissed the top of his head, then lifted Joey up until he was haloed by the morning sunlight flooding in from the bedroom window . “Everybody’s a critic.”


End file.
